


To Be Alive

by Anzieizna



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: BTW, Low-key fluff, M/M, Oh also, Pre-Slash, Tuckington is hinter at, actual thing isn't too graphic, also docnut, also first time posting for RvB so please don't kill me, and i felt that was the closest tag i could put, but i do describe injuries, but they're in a car crash, car crash, good grimmons bonding, grif and carolina friendship, i can't do anything, i love writing this fandom, i mean go for it really, it's great, just a teeny bit, least i don't think so, oh and panic attack, or implied - Freeform, simmons has a panic attack, there's no violence, tho, though those aren't tooooooooo graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 21:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19181407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anzieizna/pseuds/Anzieizna
Summary: The gang still can't drive cars, and that tends to have consequences.OR:(Most of) The Reds and Blues get into a car accident, and this fic describes the aftermath as they're in hospital.





	To Be Alive

**Author's Note:**

> I suck and this story sucks and I'm sorry

The last thing Grif could remember was Simmons’ loud exclamation of _‘FUCK!’_.

It was so weird to hear something like that from Simmons of all people. Not the word itself – Grif had heard Simmons swear plenty of times before, both sober and not. But the shrill panic in his voice was new. Simmons was not a ‘relaxed’ type of guy. The dude was a nerd, a kiss-ass on top of having severe social anxiety, so it was considered weird if his voice _didn’t_ hold a jittery tone.

But the way he said that curse was more panicked than he’d ever heard. And he’d gotten into enough dangerous shit to last five lifetimes. Simmons’ voice had cracked about seven times in that one syllable, a layer of pure rage and worry that hid beneath the surface.

Grif’s head instantly snapped forward to see what all the commotion was at the front of the car. The wheel seemed to be engulfed in Simmons’ hands and a shriek rose from Donut, who sat beside the man in the other front seat, as suddenly gravity seemed to switch off and the Hawaiian couldn’t tell left from back or up from diagonal.

The next few scenes were blurs – a scream cut short abruptly, distant sounds of violent crying, Caboose’s yelp muffled by something as Wash’s voice rose over the chaos, asking if everyone was okay. They obviously _weren’t_ , insensitive asshole. The car had toppled and Grif wasn’t sure if it landed on its side or on the roof, all he knew was that it _hurt_ , and his vision was darkening quickly, and the noises around him seemed far too loud for his ears.

He tried to stay awake, he really did, but soon that darkness became far too inviting to ignore. He had trained his body to fall asleep as fast as he could the moment he laid down anywhere so all his effort was wasted in the end. Wash’s urgent mantra of ‘stay awake, Grif, we need you’ and Donut’s squeamish ‘Oh my God, Wash, do something, quick!’ became white noise as he closed his eyes and went out like a light switch.

 

Caboose was the first one to wake up. According to the doctors, Washington did a good job of ‘protecting Caboose by covering him with his body’ as they were crashing, so he managed to get away with a couple of scrapes. Grif couldn’t really see why he went after the blond idiot seeing as, hey, they were both in the back with him and he was right in the middle of the two! But, to be honest, he was lucky to only have a dozen or so stitches, so he wasn’t going to voice those complaints out loud.

Wash didn’t get away so scot-free. The guy had a piece of glass enter his leg as well as a bunch of shards getting into the back of his head. He looked like a goddamn nightmare when Grif finally visited him. Tucker was there, obviously – Grif doubted that the blue ever left since he was called in -, and the man couldn’t help but feel like he was intruding on a private moment when he walked into the pair grasping the other’s hand, staring into each other’s eyes as if the world depended on it.

Lucky for him, Tucker quickly noticed and ruined that entire atmosphere. “The fatass finally wakes up. What a Goddamn miracle.”

Grif chuckled, walking further into the room as his shoulders relaxed once more. His back felt strained these past few days, not really surprising as he just got out of a car crash. “There’s a difference between a nap and a coma, Tucker.”

The man snorted. “You weren’t in a coma, idiot.”

“Same thing to me,” he shrugged in return.

The check-up was pretty much routine from then on. Lots of questions of ‘how’re you doing?’ and what the doctors said as he sat there with the other two Blues. Every now and then, Wash would trail off in the middle of a sentence and Grif could see the instant panic settle into Tucker’s face and posture. He had to calm him down from springing up and calling the nurses a couple of times. Wash was simply tired – Grif could see that by the purple bags etched under the scarred blonde’s eyes. Although, in reality, those were now a constant part of the man. Washington stayed up a lot – not in the ‘sleep-is-dangerous-because-what-if-someone-attacks-me’ kind of way that Sarge did, but he actually had _trouble_ getting rest. PTSD was all Grif knew of it. The only other people that really knew what was going on inside of Wash’s fucked up brain was Tucker, Church, and the asshole’s sister, Carolina. And _maybe_ Caboose, but Grif was terrified that if he asked him he’d spurt out some fantasy nonsense that would give Grif nightmares.

He was let out of the hospital quickly; the only people left in the hospital from the accident after that being Simmons and Donut.

Donut was… Donut was worse.

Apparently when they flipped over ten times in the air something must have exploded, or broke, or cracked, because half of Donut’s face was now crisped skin tinted a vibrant pink – _“it’s light-ish red, Grif! I don’t wear pink!” “You’re not wearing it – a part of your face got blown off! You’re not fucking wearing missing skin!”_ – and his right eye was slightly glassy. Not blind, just… lazy. Or blurry. That was one of the words Donut used to describe it.

The side of his hair was also missing, which Grif thought looked awesome because it made him seem like a badass even though he was the complete, complete opposite. Doc, however, had basically had a heart attack. The Jamaican almost dropped to his knees when he saw Donut’s condition and refused to leave even when visiting hours were over. They ended up getting kicked out a few times when O’Malley, Doc’s dissociative identity, took over the man and proceeded to yell at the hospital staff, going as far as punching one guy in the face after he began _pushing_ the lot out of Donut’s room. Luckily, O’Malley rarely ever showed up when Donut was around – or awake, at least – so Grif managed walk around in piece without too much worry or having the alternative personality start throwing insults at him in that deep, grunted voice.

The lovey-dovey moments they shared whenever Grif and Sarge – and occasionally Lopez, if he managed to put his hate for the Reds and Blues aside enough – were around made Grif want to throw up, and he felt like it wouldn’t be long before Doc got down on one knee in the middle of the hospital and shouted _'surprise! I don’t want to lose you again!’_ whilst flashing a far too bright and big stone around because that’s just the kind of idiotic and sunny person Frank “Doc” DuFresne was.

… And then there was Simmons.

 

Grif looked up at the sound of a door creaking, relaxing and giving a brief nod in greeting to the newcomer before he looked back at the body resting on the bed before him.

“He’s still not awake yet?”

Grif shook his head. The question was asked in a shy, timid tone, which was something Grif never expected he’d hear from _Carolina_ of all people.

Carolina, the person who kicked everyone’s ass on both the Red and Blue team – definitely including her own brother -, was approaching him like he was a wild animal. Like she was awkward around him, unsure of what to do or say. Which was complete bullshit, because this is Carolina Church we’re talking about – the sister to Leonard Church, the most sarcastic asshole on the planet. The girl who everyone was afraid to even look at in fear of getting punched in the balls. The girl who could beat up her teachers, professors and boss if they pissed her off enough.

Grif couldn’t be bothered to work out the mystery, his energy already being used up on his tight grip on Simmons’ palm. A man could only do so much at the same time, and Grif was not one of the magical dudes who could multitask.

Carolina took a seat on the other side of the bed, her body obviously tense and still as she avoided eye contact with Grif. Not that he looked up. No, all his attention was now on the face of the redhead below him – on the half face, half metal, to be specific.

The left side of his face, his left arm and shoulder, and a part of his chest and stomach all now gleamed silver. A rusty colour that barely reflected the light from the light on the ceiling but still made Grif cringe every time he looked at it. Not that is was… hideous, or unattractive in anyway. Simmons wasn’t really a ‘looker’ in the first place – adorable, of course, with his wide smile and endless number of freckles – so it didn’t really make much of a difference. No, what really made him sick was that Simmons, Simmons of all people, ended up in this stupid car crash where a stupid dickhead didn’t realise that a car filled with five people was coming his way. Simmons, the guy who was nerdy but still managed to make Grif laugh like an idiot with almost every word he said. Simmons, the man who stuck his neck out for his friends time and time again without any hesitation or any expectation that the others would do the same for him.

The universe was a fucking shitshow if it pulled bullshit like this on wonderful people like that.

Simmons was already self-conscious enough with all the comments from his childhood still lingering in his mind. Only half of which were from the kids, the other half being from the disgusting disgrace of a human that dared call himself Simmons’ father.

It was a regular occurrence for Grif to wake up in the middle of the night in their apartment and find Simmons crying in the bathroom, broken shards of glass on the floor around him and blood dripping from his forehead and hands. 

Simmons didn’t deserve crap like this – none of them did. Yet out of everyone, Simmons had to be the guy who suffered the worst damage.

“How long has he been asleep?”

It took a few moments for Grif to register that Carolina had spoken in the first place before he replied. “Just over a day. Doctors let him out of surgery yesterday. Said he’d wake up today.”

Carolina nodded slowly, eyes drifting down to said man. “At least he’ll wake up soon,” she tried.

Grif nodded, keeping his comments to himself. Unless something went wrong. _Unless he won’t wake up, and he’ll die instead. Or he’ll wake up and then be too ashamed to go out in public again._ It didn’t matter whether or not Simmons actually woke up; Grif was more worried about what would happen after he came back. After he looked at himself in the mirror, after he walked around town with people staring and pointing at him just because a part of his body was metal. Simmons’ body might make it, but his _best friend_ might not.

If Simmons’ personality changed in any way over this, Grif would personally hunt down and kill the cock-bite that crashed their car into his friends’.

Suddenly, a hand engulfed his other one, the one not clasped in Simmons’ grip. Grif glanced up, staring in slight shock at the shaky smile Carolina sent his way. “He’s going to be fine,” she insisted rather awkwardly. “It’s _Simmons_. If anybody can be stubborn enough to go work past something like this, it’s him.” Grif smiled lazily at the last part, and a huge grin spread on Carolina’s face.

The redhead suddenly stood up, walking over to the other side of the bed and sitting down beside him. Without warning the woman wrapped her arms around his chubby figure, almost squeezing the life force out of him with her strength. It was then, Grif realised, that maybe he wasn’t the only one who was suffering so badly.

Tucker, Doc and Carolina also had their families in the hospital, whether it be by blood, friendship, or love. He realised that even if the others hadn’t gone under so much damage, the pain was still felt in everyone.

He squeezed back.

It lasted like this for about a few seconds before Grif unceremoniously announced, “This is really fucking weird.”

Carolina laughed, pulling back with a much more relaxed expression on her face. The Hawaiian man returned the lip tilt as she walked out of the room, sending him one more reassuring glance before she pushed through the door.

Grif turned back to the unconscious body before him, trying to focus on counting the freckles instead of the metal encasing half of his body.

And if he placed a quick, secretive peck to Simmons’ hand, nobody had to know.

 

It was late at night when Simmons finally woke up.

Only a day after his weird-as-hell bonding moment, or whatever the fuck it was, with Carolina, Grif was trying his best not to fall asleep as he sat before the freckled boy. Despite how worried he was, the Hawaiian couldn’t function without at least eleven hours of sleep, which was difficult seeing as at any moment Simmons could wake up. Or… you know, _not._

In the midst of his hazy, sleep-like trance, the sounds of blanket shuffling and yawning didn’t grab his attention. It was only when the hand in his palm squeezed back did Grif awaken.

He stared at Simmons for a moment, trying to keep a smile at bay and doing his best to contain tears that suddenly seemed determined to escape his eyes.

The redhead blinked owlishly for a second as he glanced around the hospital room. There were a few other people sleeping in their own beds, but they were far away enough that Simmons wouldn’t freak out about privacy.

“Wh…Where am I?”

Grif felt any semblance of happiness drop from his face. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest and wondered if Simmons could hear it too. “You’re in the hospital. Because of the car crash.” Grif’s voice shook, and he could only hope that it wasn’t as obvious as it was to his own ears.

Simmons’ face drew a blank first, but then his eyes widened with horror and he seemed to jump up in his bed. “Oh, _fucking, God!_ ”

“Hey – where the hell are you going?” Grif demanded as he pushed the nerd back into the bed.

“Where are the others? Is Donut okay? Is Donut alive? Is Caboose? Is Wash-“

Grif couldn’t help but chuckle at that last suggestion. If anybody could make it out of a burning car and still be able to do leg work outs every day, is was Washington. And Carolina. And Tex. 

“They’re fine, Grandma. You on the other hand, are not,” Grif chided his best friend with a fake frown. “What happened to wearing seat-belts?”

The man furrowed his eyebrows. “I was wearing a seat-belt!”

“Well, according to Wash, you basically flew out of the window. I think that means you _weren’t_ wearing a seat-belt.”

The man huffed and motioned his hand up, as if unconsciously going to move his glasses further up his nose. It was weird, seeing Simmons without his glasses. It had almost become a part of him. Like how Wash always had bags under his eyes, or how Donut always wore pastel colours, or how Lopez always had that ‘I’m-done’ expression on his face even if he had just arrived.

Simmons stopped short, noticing that his arm wasn’t flesh. That it wasn’t pale and dotted with brown splodges.

Grif couldn’t tell what has happening in his brain. 

His face stayed frozen, but his eyes were wide and glazing. The man’s hand was shaking slightly and he lifted his eyes to stare at Grif. The Hawaiian’s heart skipped a beat.

Simmons’ gaze was filled with raw panic. One eye was cold and blank, tinted a cruel green that seemed far too bright and constant and surrounded by metal plating. The other was still the normal, soft green, one that looked real and not as if it was pulled out of a Barbie doll, but Grif could see pure horror in it as their eyes met. The nerd was stock still, not moving apart from the occasional trembling of his body.

Grif swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry. “You’d taken a lot of… damage. Doctors had no other option. Said they’d change the prosthetics when you got in better shape.” He added the last part to comfort Simmons, to show that it wouldn’t look too unnatural. Which was an absolute fucking lie because they’d have to do it to his face too, but Grif didn’t want to panic the guy even more.

Before he knew what was happening, the remainder of Simmons’ features went pale. His breaths began coming in quick, short gasps and his eyes were blown wide.

“Shit,” Grif cussed under his breath, because, seriously - this was not an ideal time for Simmons to be having a panic attack. The man’s hands were shaking and Grif could see they were tense. The muscles in his shoulders were pulled taunt and he seemed to curl into himself, pupils tinier than a pebble. 

“Simmons, I’m here, okay?” Grif whispered. He tried to keep his voice soft and quiet, ducking down to be eye level with his friend. Despite his attempts, Simmons didn’t seem to see the Hawaiian, and looked past him as though he was a ghost. “You’re safe. Nothing’s happening. You’re just here, with me, Grif, in hospital-“ He cringed at the end of the sentence. That probably did nothing to help. “You’re safe, I promise. Nothing is happening. Let’s breathe, alright? I’m just going to count and you try to hold your breath for that long, okay, Simmons?”

Breathe in for four seconds. Hold for seven. Exhale for eight. This was the regular breathing routine Grif had gotten used to at this point. He was both embarrassed and ashamed to admit that the first time he was around Simmons when he had an attack he panicked like fuck, which was a shock as he could barely give a shit about anything at that point in time. Simmons had warned him about it before – told him how to deal with him, gave him advice, all that crap, but when it actually happened, Grif had been so surprised when it came out of nowhere that he forgot all that Simmons taught him.

It was mostly fine, though – Grif didn’t want anyone to know about his failure at paying attention and panicking and Simmons didn’t want people to know about his panic attacks. Even though everyone could see the nerd had anxiety.

“I’m going to touch you Simmons, alright?” He didn’t really get a response. Simmons blinked his eyes and Grif reached for his hand – human hand, not wanting to alert his friend even more. He held it gently, whispering random conversation as Simmons' strength returned.

Eventually he calmed down to the point where Grif could see his face and not just a blur. Tears stained the left side of his face. His pupil becoming smaller was the only sign of anything wrong on the right side of his face. There were lines under Simmons’ eye, tinted red and shaky as he took calming breaths.

Grif took to talking slowly, mostly about nothing and every few minutes helping Simmons walk around to the other side of his bed and back. Anything to keep his mind occupied.

Eventually the man fell asleep, his deep breaths turning longer and longer. His chest expanded more and he stilled on the hospital bed. Grif sighed, exhausted himself, and pulled the sheets over the man.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day, and the weeks, months, maybe even years after would be even more tiring.

Still, his friend was alive. He would deal with whatever he’d have to.


End file.
